A Gap in the Fence
by Kencat
Summary: They met through a gap in the fence.
They met through a gap in the fence.

Kuroo had lived in the small neighborhood for nearly a month. Its matching houses and twisting roads were confusing for an outsider and he was embarrassed to admit that he'd gotten lost walking home more than once. Never before had he seen his dark-haired neighbor before that day, only barely catching sight of him through the space between the wooden planks of the fence in his backyard.

His neighbor's yard was larger than his own, the grass evenly green and freshly cut. The boy was facing away from him, crouched over something Kuroo couldn't see. Kuroo had met just about every kid who lived in the neighborhood. Except this one, apparently. He hummed in curiosity.

He pressed closer to the fence, hands pressed against the wood on either side of him. "What are you doing?"

The other boy jumped and whirled around in almost the same moment. The speed of the motion caused his hair to fan around his head, then settle back around his chin as he faced Kuroo full on.

His lips were pulled down in a frown, but it was his eyes that caught Kuroo's attention. He'd seen brown eyes before, sure, but he wasn't really positive that's what you could call them. They were golden, like honey, the sun's rays only serving to make them brighter. His dark hair contrasted them greatly, making them stand out even more.

His voice was quiet, almost frightened. "Who are you?"

"Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsurou." The other boy stood, his head tilting to the side. He was still frowning.

Kuroo waited for a response, but none came.

Instead, he heard a door opening and then a woman calling, "Kenma, it's time for dinner."

He gave Kuroo one last look with those golden eyes before running inside. Kuroo watched his retreating form then picked up an abandoned volleyball from his own yard. He spent an hour setting it against the fence, waiting to see if Kenma would come back outside.

He didn't.

He was surprised he hadn't noticed that his mother and Kenma's were becoming fast friends, but then again, it wasn't like he'd ever seen them talk. He was either in his room or outside playing with whatever kids he could find.

So, he really hadn't expected his mother to slap his hand away from a freshly made apple pie with a stern warning that it was for dinner with the Kozume's later that night.

Kenma's house was pretty much the same as his own, but was somehow entirely different. The layout was backwards and the walls were different colors and where the walls were bare at Kuroo's house, Kenma's were lined with photos hung in frames of various sizes. His eyes lingered on them before his mother ushered him into the kitchen to help them prepare. He didn't mind.

He was stirring a pot of pasta when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Kenma appeared in the doorway with his dark hair messy and hands rubbing at his eyes.

He hadn't noticed them.

"Did you make pie? Can I have some?"

"Not yet, Kenma. Were you sleeping this whole time? I told you the neighbors were coming over."

Kuroo's mother giggled.

Kenma froze. It was a fascinating thing to watch, Kuroo thought, as Kenma's muscles tensed in a single instant. He stopped rubbing at his face and suddenly those golden eyes were on him. Kenma's bare toes curled against the white tile floor and he flushed all the way to his ears, embarrassed for not noticing there were others in the room. Kenma ducked his head, his hair moving like a curtain to shield his face.

"Why don't you take Tetsurou to your room? You guys can play games or something." Kenma's shoulder slumped at his mother's suggestion. Those eyes were on him again, if only for a second. He turned back up the stairs and Kuroo followed closely behind.

Kenma's room was pristine, the exact opposite of his own, meaning you could actually see Kenma's floor. Kenma snatched something off his desk and immediately retreated to his bed, drawing his knees to his chest.

It was a Gameboy, Kuroo realized. Kenma powered on the device and blatantly ignored his presence, fingers smashing against the buttons in rapid succession.

Kuroo lasted five whole minutes before he cracked in irritation.

"Did I do something to make you not like me? I mean, we've only talked one other time and I really didn't think I was rude or anything. If it's because I scared you, I didn't mean to. I just wanted to know what you were doing." He was louder than he needed to be, but he saw Kenma pause his game.

"I'm just," he paused, "not good with people and I don't want to interact with them." He murmured, his head turning to glance out the window that overlooked his backyard.

Kuroo frowned. Kenma had pretty much just said that he didn't want Kuroo around. It wasn't as if he didn't have other friends. Even so, Kuroo knew that no matter how many other friend's he had, he still wanted to be Kenma's, too.

"Oh." He said, instead of leaving.

He took a step towards Kenma's bed, "What if I just watch you play?" He didn't give the boy a chance to argue, settling himself beside him, their shoulders pressed together. "You won't even know I'm here."

He forced his gaze to stay on Kenma's screen, even when the other boy huffed in his direction. After what seemed like ages, Kenma resumed playing.

They sat that way until Kenma's character died and he passed the game towards Kuroo.

"We'll take turns."

Kuroo nodded.

When Kenma's mother called up for dinner, they both hopped off Kenma's bed and stretched. Dinner was uneventful, but the food was good and Kuroo was done with his within minutes and asking for seconds. Kenma picked at his food, his eyes occasionally drifting to the pie on the counter.

His father caught his eye. "Not unless you eat all your food, Kenma."

Kenma's nose scrunched up in response, his brows drawing together. When no one was looking, Kuroo scooped up nearly half of Kenma's pasta and set it on his own plate. He made a shushing gesture with his finger and dug into his stolen food.

He didn't miss Kenma's small smile.

That year, he started teaching Kenma the basics of volleyball and Kuroo earned the title of Kenma's one and only friend. A year after that, Kuroo convinced him to join their middle school volleyball team with him. And later, when Kenma wanted to dye his hair, it was Kuroo who announced that blond would suit him just as well.

Suddenly he was seventeen years old and in Kenma's room, their legs tangled together as they sat on opposite ends of the bed, thinking about how _fast_ they had grown up and how Kenma had become his best friend so very easily. He'd been there through Kuroo's parent's divorce, offering his shoulder to cry on when the fifteen year old had thought his entire world was falling apart.

He'd been the one to convince him that his dark eyes were just as nice as any other eyes and maybe even better because it looked like someone had _'painted galaxies'_ in his and ' _who else could say that?'_

Kuroo still had that message on his phone.

Kenma was the one who called him every morning to make sure he was awake because his dad worked early and was gone before Kuroo got up. He was the one who asked his mom to make him extra food for lunch because Kuroo was stuck paying for food that wasn't even that great.

He made sure Kuroo did his stretches properly before practices and matches and had gotten Bokuto's number from Akaashi the day the two of them had met because he knew that Kuroo would forget before the training camp.

Kenma had been his constant, a link to everything that he was. Everyone thought the setter was a mess of shyness and video games but he was so much _more_ and Kuroo didn't understand how no one noticed.

Kenma's toes wiggled against his leg and Kuroo watched those blazing eyes of his scan the screen of his game, fingers shifting over various buttons.

But, maybe it was okay that no one else saw it. As long as he did.

As if he could feel Kuroo's eyes on him, Kenma paused his game.

"What?"

Kuroo shook his head and waved a hand. "Nothing. I was caught up in thinking."

Kenma eyed him for another moment before resuming his game. Kuroo crawled across the bed to sit at his side, their shoulders pressed together.

He wondered what their lives would be like now if he'd never come for dinner, if he'd never seen Kenma hunched over through a gap in their fence.


End file.
